


Mad World, Mad Kings, Mad Composition

by themummersfolly



Category: King John - Shakespeare
Genre: Character Growth, Character Study, Gen, no i will not change my mind, philip the bastard is the main character of the play, plantagenet family drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28232331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themummersfolly/pseuds/themummersfolly
Summary: Shakespeare's King John makes the most sense if you look at it as the story of Philip the Bastard coming to terms with his newly-discovered paternity, and figuring out what it means for him and his place in the world.
Relationships: Hubert de Burgh & Arthur I of Brittany, Philip the Bastard|Sir Richard Plantagenet & Duke of Austria, Philip the Bastard|Sir Richard Plantagenet & King John I of England
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Histories Ficathon XI





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gersaint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gersaint/gifts).



It now seemed, despite all diplomatic efforts, that peace with France was imminent.

Philip—Sir Richard Plantagenet—stood with his uncle and grandmother, the best fake smile he could muster plastered across his face. At the opposite end of the table sat the French king, and between the two parties—joining them, God help us—sat Princess Blanche and Louis, the crown prince of France. Philip had to will himself not to gag at the besotted couple. He distracted himself by studying the members of the French party, trying to get the measure of them. There, Aimar of Limoges, Duke of Austria, a recreant if ever there was one. He would be drunk under the table before the feast was over, by the looks of him. And beside him, Walter of Châtillon, one of the French king’s most trusted officers. He had won renown in the Holy Land—lucky dog. He was also very obviously aware that he was being watched. Philip found himself staring the man in the eye, grinned cheekily, and looked away.

It wouldn’t do to start anything here, no matter how bored he was. In an open, honest battle there might be something to be gained from fighting these great lords, but not at a feast celebrating a marriage treaty. Queen Eleanor had expressly warned him to mind his manners, as if she sensed his discontent—and he was loath to disobey her.

“...presents some splendid opportunities, don’t you think?” Queen Eleanor looked up at him expectantly. He blinked.

“Of course, Grandam! Really splendid opportunities!”

Apparently his non-answer satisfied her, and she turned back to her conversation with her son the king. Philip let out a breath.

 _Totally dependent on your wealthy relatives, and you let your mind wander while their speaking—damn fool_. Of course there would be opportunities during peacetime, if you were a clerk or maybe a blacksmith. For a landless knight like Philip, though, the best he could hope for was to beg the money for a suit of armor and take the cross, and that had been an option even when he was Philip Falconbridge.

The only person who looked as miserable as he felt was Lady Constance, who sat apart from the festivities with her young son. She had taken the opportunity to berate each member of the French party in turn when she was told of the proposed treaty. Philip had to admit, he felt her distress. Although technically on opposite sides, they had both hung their hopes on the now-cancelled war. At least, he thought, she has her son’s duchy to go back to. I’m likely to remain the Plantagenet charity case.

His reverie was interrupted by a commotion. The sea of merrymakers parted and a herald, wearing the badge of the papal legate, stepped forward.

“My lord, Cardinal Pandulf Verraccio, ambassador for His Holiness Pope Innocent III!”

King John sat up straighter. Eleanor tensed.

“You told me you sorted out that Stephen Langton business,” she muttered. John swallowed nervously.

As the red-robed legate approached the high table, even the Austrian duke put down his wine cup and paid attention. A chill descended over the partygoers, especially on the English side. Philip began to wonder if his fears of impending peace had been premature.


	2. Chapter 2

It would take some work, but if they were lucky, they could avoid a civil war.

Philip spurred his horse onward. He had seen Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot leave the palace only a few hours ago; they couldn’t have gotten far. King John had trusted him to bring them back, and he would not fail. Of course he would not fail. He had slain the Duke of Austria and avenged Richard Cœur-de-Lion; he had captured the French king’s would-be puppet, had delivered young Arthur into the care of his own family. He had achieved glory in battle and become one of the king’s most trusted knights, had proved himself worthy of the name Plantagenet. And he would not fail now, with the fate of England hanging in the balance.

There, up ahead, by the castle wall- “My lords! The king by me requests your presence!”

Pembroke looked up, but beyond that, they didn’t respond. They crouched on the ground, examining some sort of bundle that lay just off the road, at the foot of the wall. Philip reigned in his horse and swung to the ground.

“My lords-”

At last the others looked up, and he was struck by Salisbury in particular: eyes wide, face ghastly and stricken.

“Sir Richard, what think you?” Salisbury’s voice came out in a rising snarl. Philip took a step back. “Have you beheld? Or could you think?!” Salisbury started forward and Pembroke seized his arm to hold him back. “This is the very top, the height, the crest of murder’s arms!”

Philip stared from him to the bundle on the ground. A pair of shoes, a russet tunic, a shock of yellow hair—some ship’s boy, or maybe a relation to one of these lords, fallen dead by the roadside...

“It is a damned and a bloody work, if it be the work of any hand.” He felt bad for Salisbury, he really did, but what did the death of some peasant boy have over the king’s business? But the words were scarcely out of his mouth when Salisbury’s eyes bulged.

“If it be the work of any hand- It is the shameful work of Hubert’s hand, the practice and purpose of the king!”

Hubert- the king- what was going on? The only Hubert he knew was Hubert de Burgh, whom John had appointed Arthur’s caretaker...

Uneasiness roiled in his gut. Stepping around Salisbury, he knelt by the body, saw the fixed eyes and bloodied face of Arthur Plantagenet. _It can’t be him. Surely if I look again_ \- But there was no mistaking the family resemblance in him, any more than in Philip. He sat back on his haunches, reeling.

Somewhere behind him, someone was shouting. He managed to pull himself together just in time to see Hubert, still holding the reigns of his lathered horse, and Salisbury advancing on him with a drawn sword. Philip scrambled to his feet, putting himself between the two men.

“Stand by or I’ll gall you, Falconbridge!” Salisbury spat the name like an insult. Philip ignored it and drew his own blade.

“You’d as well gall the devil, Salisbury. Put up your toasting iron.”

Bigot and Pembroke crowded in behind Salisbury.

“What are you going to do, Falconbridge?” Bigot demanded. “Second a murderer?”

“I’m not a murderer!” Hubert burst out. Philip had the impression it was the first time he’d gotten a word in edgewise. “It’s not an hour since I left him well. I honored him, I loved him!”

Salisbury glared at the unfortunate man, but the only way to get to him was through Philip. Finally he spat and turned away.

“I am stifled with this smell of sin. Away, toward Bury. There tell the king he may inquire us out.”

Pembroke and Bigot followed him, casting furious looks at the king’s officers. When they were gone, Philip let out a breath and sheathed his sword.

“Wonderful.” He turned to Hubert. “Did you know about this? Because if you did, so help me, I’ll see you burn in hell-”

“Will you just listen, Sir Richard?”

“Oh, why the hell not. Start talking.”

Instead of talking, Hubert peered around him, then took a step towards Arthur’s body. “Is... is it really him?” He knelt, examining the broken face and form, reaching out to close the eyes. Whatever he tried to say next was mostly lost in a choking sob.

“I left him well.”

Philip knelt across from him. Seemingly oblivious, Hubert took off his cloak and covered the body. Philip allowed himself one last look at the face, as unmistakably Plantagenet as his own. Surely John hadn’t ordered his death, had he? He’s family—but he’s also a threat, a rival with a legitimate claim on the throne- Philip suppressed a shiver. _John would do the same to me, if I weren’t a bastard._ He’d never thought about it like that before.

Hubert gathered the body into his arms and struggled to stand; Philip helped him get to his feet.

“You take care of the boy and then follow after me. I’ve got to get back to the king. Heaven itself is frowning on the land, it seems. I don’t think we’ll get off easy this time.”


	3. Chapter 3

No one was sure yet, but it was beginning to look like this was England’s last stand.

King John was dead. Philip had ridden through the night to be at his side, and had only just arrived when the king succumbed to his illness. Now he knelt before the new king, Henry, a skinny boy even younger than Arthur had been.

“My lord.” Philip’s voice hung heavy as smoke over a burned-out house; he’d scarcely slept all the past week. “The French are raging at our very heels. Let me carry out the office of revenge for your father, on your behalf. I’ll drive this enemy out the door, or I’ll die trying.”

The little boy in the oversized ermine robe swallowed nervously and nodded. He looked scared; dimly, Philip hoped he could keep him from ending up like their cousin. He rose and was about to take his leave when someone behind him spoke.

“It seems you’re behind the times, Sir Richard.”

Philip spun. Salisbury! He looked tired, but the smugness was apparent in his voice—smugness and relief.

“Cardinal Pandulf just arrived with a message from Prince Louis. He wants to begin peace talks.”

Philip bristled. “Does he now? He’ll be even more eager when he finds out we can still show up to a fight.” He started towards the door. Salisbury stopped him.

“No, really. He’s already started sending troops home. He asked Pandulf to mediate the talks. I think you should be there,” he added. “To represent the interests of the crown.”

Philip blinked, trying to figure out if his weary brain had misheard.

“Me at the peace talks?”

And Salisbury, who for so long had looked down his nose at the bastard Plantagenet, nodded. “If the king finds it agreeable.”

They both glanced back to Henry. Again, with visible apprehension, the boy nodded. Philip hesitated, then approached the throne and knelt.

“King Henry, I do bequeath my faithful services and true subjection everlastingly.”

To his surprise, Salisbury joined him. “As do I, to rest without a spot for evermore.”

Henry glanced between the two former enemies. His lip trembled, and he burst into tears. Philip was halfway to his feet before he caught himself.

“My lord?”

“Thank you!” the boy sputtered through his tears. “I d-don’t know h-how to thank you!”

Philip looked back at Salisbury, who himself had started with concern, then back at Henry.

“It’s going to be all right, my lord. Nought shall make us rue, if England to itself do rest but true.”


End file.
